Daryl's Poncho
by Trogdor19
Summary: How Daryl got his poncho. And kissing. Established Caryl, takes place during winter between Season 2 & 3. One-shot


_Author's Note: This takes place as the group is traveling around in the winter between Season 2 & 3\. So, after the farm. Spoilers through Season 2. Daryl & Carol have already started to creep into a romantic relationship in this version. I just wanted to share my headcanon for where Daryl's poncho came from._

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 **The Poncho**

"What on earth could we possibly need from a tractor store?" Carol dropped her hands onto her hips, staring up at the storefront.

"Well, we need most everything," Hershel said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "So it can't hurt. We could even pick up a little seed, in case we can stake out a place with a garden this spring."

Lori stared at him. "Why don't we pick up some seat covers for a Rolls Royce while we're at it? And a nice glaze, just in case we stumble across a ham?"

Daryl stopped prying at the front doors long enough to shoot an incredulous look at the waiting group. "You people kiddin' me? Tractor store's got damn near everything worth having. Tools, warm clothes. Maybe even food. Half of 'em sell rifles. Ammo. Machetes. Boots. Tarps."

"Okay, okay, Mr. John Deere," Maggie said. "As soon as TV comes back, we'll let you star in the tractor store commercials. Now would you just get the door open please?"

"Doors are glass," Glenn said. "Why don't you just break them? Nothing came out when you pounded anyway."

Daryl leaned on his crowbar, his face twisting with the effort. "Ya ever seen a house rot out?" he said through his teeth.

Glenn glanced around, as if he expected the others to clue him in as to what he was missing. "Uh, no."

"Long as the water can't get in, it's good. But you go shooting holes in the walls, bustin' out windows, lettin' the roof leak…ya get mold. After that, you only got a year or two 'fore the structure starts to go." Daryl backed up, leaning his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "We ain't got out of this little range all winter. Roads all blocked up, herds everywhere. If we's stuck here, every house in this spot's a house we might need ta live in someday." He squinted over at Glenn. "Roof's nice to have, when it rains."

Carol turned her back on the tractor store, watching the open parking lot for walkers. This place was out on the edge of town, but there were always more walkers near towns. There were a few dead ones out by the curb, nearly hidden by the grass scraggling out of the little islands in the parking lot. It had already grown knee high and thick with weeds. By this time next year, the whole of Georgia would be a jungle.

The sharp rhythm of Rick's cowboy boots thumped against the pavement and Carol turned around as he came back from scoping the backside of the building. "We're still not in yet? Why don't you break the door?"

"Why don't you break the damn door?" Daryl chucked the crowbar at Rick's boots, metal clattering against pavement. "Y'all gonna hold my dick for me next time I take a piss, too? Buncha goddamn backseat drivers."

Carol sighed. "Rick, we just went over all of this. Just let him pry the door open. It never takes him more than ten minutes anyway. Everybody's just hungry and impatient."

Rick picked up the crowbar and jammed it into the seam of the door, but he didn't catch the edge and as soon as he leaned on it, it popped out, sending him stumbling.

"Gimme that, 'fore you hurt yourself." Daryl snatched the crowbar back and crammed it into the door.

Rick's beard twitched like he was trying to hide a smile, and he said something very low to Daryl that Carol only caught the last half of.

"—hold it for me the next time I take a piss, too?"

Daryl snorted, but his face lightened as he leaned into the crowbar. Rick laughed, and Carol smiled. She hadn't minded Rick as much lately. He seemed a little more level-headed than he had toward the end at the farm. Maybe without the strain of Shane dogging his heels, he'd be a better leader.

Daryl passed the crowbar to Rick and loaded his crossbow. The regular crew of house-clearers stepped up behind them, but Rick stopped on the first step, shaking his head and making a face like he smelled something bad. "Well, it sure isn't empty."

"Walker must be stuck," Daryl said. "Or somebody else finished one off in here. Don't look like nobody's been in here since the end, though. Place's locked up tight." He threw a glance back at Carol and she drew her pistol and turned her back to the store, watching the other approaches so nothing could surprise them while the men and Maggie were inside. She cleared houses with them sometimes now, had gone on a couple of runs. She still wasn't exactly sure what side of that line she wanted to come down on, but it was nice knowing she could do her part, if the group needed her.

A few minutes later, they were in, and Lori and Carol grabbed plastic bags, scooping candy bars out of the racks by the registers.

"I call the Kit Kats!" Carl grinned at his mom. "And you can't say I have to eat dinner before candy because we ain't got no dinner."

"Don't have," Lori corrected. "Ain't isn't a real word."

"It's real! Daryl says it all the time!"

Lori took a breath and Carol stiffened. Daryl had just disappeared down the aisle next to them and whatever Lori was about to tell her son about why he couldn't talk like Daryl, she didn't want him to overhear and be hurt by it.

"Daryl's an adult, sweetie," Carol broke in quickly. "He already went to school and learned about proper grammar, and now he makes his own choices about how he would like to speak. Just like adults have the choice to use swear words or not. But when you're young, you learn the right way to do things, and that includes speaking correctly and not using inappropriate language. When you're an adult, you can choose what type of language you prefer to use, just as Daryl has."

"No fun allowed until you're eighteen," Carl grumbled. "I get it."

"Plenty of candy, though." Lori ruffled his hair. "At least this week. Promise me you'll brush your teeth really good after you eat. There aren't any dentists anymore."

"Pliers on aisle nine," Daryl drawled, appearing at the end of the aisle with the loaded crossbow leaned lazily against his shoulder. Carol's heart gave a little skip, both at the long-legged, black-leather swagger of him, and the fact that he _had_ been close enough to listen. He didn't look upset, though, so maybe her rambling save had actually helped.

"That's not funny." Lori gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"Weren't no joke! You ever had a tooth go bad, you'd be wishin' you had some pliers." He swiped two sets of sunglasses off the rack, and Carol made a mental note to grab a couple more. His light eyes were painfully sensitive to the Georgia sun, but his sunglasses were always getting knocked off his face and broken. He turned and went down the next aisle.

"Did you find the walker?" Carol called after him.

"Owner was holed up in the back room," Daryl said. "Gonna go take a better look, see what he had stashed. Hope that fucker opted out early, 'fore he ate up all his food."

"Daryl!" Lori snapped. "Honestly."

"What? Just sayin'. Ain't doin' him no good one way or 'nother, now."

Lori shoved a full box of Salted Nut Bars into her bag. "Carol, I take back everything I said about you being a good influence on that man."

Carol sent her an amused look. "I'm pretty sure all the good influencing is going the other direction. Though I appreciate the vote of confidence."

There was a small sound from the aisle Daryl disappeared down, and she wondered if he'd been eavesdropping again. Then again, there wasn't much he _didn't_ hear.

Carl started punching buttons on the cash register, making ca-ching sound effects.

"Somebody gimme a hand back here," Daryl called.

"Coming!" Carol left her bag with Lori, checked her pistol and knife to be sure the holsters were unsnapped, and ventured further into the dark store. As she got close to the back, the rear windows added illumination, and she stepped up behind where Daryl's broad shoulders were blocking most of a doorway. Her eyes slid down his muscular back, but then she was distracted by the increasing stench.

"Lookit this!" He sounded very excited, so she forced herself to go forward, pinching her nose as she ducked around him. He was pointing at a dead body.

She choked. It had been dead and rotting for so long the brains strewn across the floor were a furry gray with something that might have been dust or mold, or both. Shiny black bug carcasses trailed out from them like gothic cupcake sprinkles. Carol blinked and tried to focus. "What?"

"Sumbitch's got a Pendleton blanket." Daryl took a step inside and started to tug on the blanket, but the corpse was rolled into the bottom half and he couldn't get it free. "My grampa had one just like it. My old man got it outta his house after he died. Feel this." He held up a corner of it toward her, rubbing it between his fingers. "Good wool, thick as hell. Warm. C'mon, help me move this body offa it."

She choked and bile rose up her throat. "Daryl, no. Even if I washed it thirty times, that would never be sanitary."

Maggie popped her head in the door behind them. "That's disgusting," she said flatly.

"Dude, if a body's been on it, the fabric's probably rotten," Glenn said, his face hidden in a handkerchief, his eyes watering from the smell.

"Ain't leavin' behind a perfectly good blanket." Daryl jerked his knife out of its sheath. "Buncha pussies." He hacked away at the blanket, cutting away the section that wasn't touching the body. Once he had it free, he folded it over, offered it to Carol again. "Feel. It's warm." She backed away, shaking her head, and he scowled. "Fine. Keep it fer myself then."

"What are you gonna do with that rag?" Maggie grimaced. "It's not even long enough to be a lap blanket."

Daryl tipped his head, considered it, then stuck his knife through the center, jerking a ragged slit in the fabric.

Glenn made a small, confused sound, then Daryl popped his head through the opening, draping the blanket over his shoulders and looking pleased. "Poncho."

Carol gagged a little. "At least let me wash it before you wear it. It smells something awful."

"Hell, I'd rather be warm than smell pretty." He caught sight of the expression on her face and frowned, then shrugged out of the poncho. "Fine. Wash it then, if ya want to so bad."

Glenn burst out laughing, looking between Daryl and Carol. "That's the first step, man. You look at her, start thinking about what she wants instead of what you want, and the next thing you know…" He made a sound like a cracking whip. "Never thought I'd see the day that Daryl Dixon—" He broke off when he saw the look on Daryl's face.

"See me what?" He ducked around Carol and stepped up into Glenn's face. "The fuck you talkin' 'bout?"

Glenn took a step back, cringing. "You know, I was going to go check and see if they had a…something. Over there."

"Yeah, you best go see." Daryl spat on the floor, glaring dangerously at the other man. " _Way_ over there."

"So what are you saying, Glenn, that a man who considers his woman's feelings is pussy whipped?" Maggie planted her fists on her hips. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway? Because if you have to think about how you're acting based on whether or not it gets you laid, probably you're no kind of man to start with."

Carol cringed and bit her lip to hold back a laugh, grabbing Daryl's hand. He glanced at her just as Maggie hit her full-volume lecturing stride. Carol raised a finger to her lips, pantomiming quiet as she started to tiptoe away. Daryl took in her silent laughter, his lips quirking, too.

"Babe, you know that's not what I—" Glenn stuttered behind them, and Daryl mimed cracking a whip.

Carol pulled him into the next aisle and then let go of his hand to slap playfully at his arm. "Don't be mean," she whispered through her laughter.

He dropped the poncho and hauled her in roughly with an arm around her waist, ducking his head. He hesitated, jerking to a stop before he connected. She pushed up onto her toes and met him halfway before he could overthink it, pressing her lips to his. As soon as she did, a little breath fell out of him and he kissed her hungrily, his other arm coming around her back. His tongue touched her lips tentatively and she moaned a little in her throat, her mouth falling open to him.

He'd been experimenting with french kissing more and more. It was strangely sexy, not knowing exactly what he was going to do next. Not all his experiments worked out well, but there was a raw earnestness to his kisses that struck her straight in the heart. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pressing close enough to feel the shiver that went through him when she traced her nails over his scalp. She slipped her other hand under his vest, flat against his chest.

He made a low grunting sound. It was one of his pleased ones, and a little aroused too. She loved how he forgot himself when he was touching or kissing her; loved the noises he made because they, too, were so excruciatingly honest. It was such a stark contrast to the games Ed used to play with her, trying to trip her up so he'd have an excuse to be angry.

Daryl made a longer, more rumbly sound and she pulled away, because that meant he was getting too turned on for the middle of the day. Especially with all the group nearby to see. She stole one more kiss, pressing it to the corner of his mouth. Then another, on his cheekbone. Then, because he was smiling, she dropped one more on his mouth before she finally stepped back, pulling his vest closed and snapping it to give her hands something to do while she caught her breath.

"You were right," she said, patting his chest when she closed the final snap.

"Hmm?"

She looked up and grinned. "You _can_ find everything you need in a tractor store."

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 _Author's Note: After I wrote this, the lovely the_wd_caryl sent me an interview link where Norman Reedus says they gave him the poncho because it's just easier to do all the movements for loading and shooting the crossbow without getting bound up in a coat. But apparently it was just a random thing he found and cut a hole in, so I got that part right!_

 _This story is actually a chapter pulled from my longer fic, How Carol Got Her Groove Back. It's a slow burn set between Seasons 2 & 3, showing how Carol and Daryl became friends, how he taught her to fight and gave her physical confidence while she taught him to trust and gave him emotional confidence. It has the stories behind how she became Hershel's apprentice and got her knife, and follows them into the start of a romantic relationship. If you liked this snippet, feel free to check out the whole story._


End file.
